Review: Skinner (1993)

Directed by: Ivan Nagy
Starring: Ted Raimi, Ricki Lake, Traci Lords
Written by: Paul Hart-Wilden
Music by: Keith Arem/Contagion
Country: United States
Available on: Blu-ray/DVD (Severin Films)
IMDb

We live in a glorious age for trashy, low-budget cinema. Thanks to boutique labels like Scream Factory, Vinegar Syndrome, Blue Underground, Grindhouse Releasing, and Severin Films, forgotten gems of debauchery like 1993’s Skinner have made their way to Blu-ray, looking more beautiful than ever for weirdos like me to discover. Skinner stars Ted Raimi as a serial killer who loves, unsurprisingly, skinning — usually prostitutes. He wanders from town to town, settling in the guest house of a lonely Ricki Lake. Meanwhile, he’s being tracked by Traci Lords as a victim of his that escaped and now is ready for some revenge.

This noir-infused slasher starts fairly tamely, holding interest primarily through gorgeous cinematography drenched in various shades of night and a score with enough mood to fuel a thousand teenagers. Although Raimi isn’t exactly presented as “normal,” with his lengthy stares and weird obsession with water, he doesn’t let his freak flag fly for a good 30 minutes or so. But once cards are put on the table, the nasty special effects from KNB emerge like a wailing, grue-slathered newborn. A modestly educated guess would prepare you for the types of things you’re going to see, often in full detail with few cuts (well, there are some cuts <rimshot.gif>). Although the grossest thing in the entire movie is a scene of Raimi and Lake slow-dancing immediately after handling a raw chicken carcass. Blech … sexy time with a side of salmonella.

The story is split between a burgeoning pseudo-romance between Raimi and Lake, the nocturnal flayings of the appropriately named Dennis Skinner, and Traci Lords’ badly executed quest for vengeance. None of the acting is particularly great, though Lake is adorable and good-natured, Raimi is just doofy enough to convince you that people might think he’s harmless and twitchy enough to assure you he’s not, and Lords is passable as an angry, sad, junkie. The story doesn’t really go much of anywhere or try to build any suspense, but what you’re here for is a heaping amount of gnarly violence dressed up in alluring blues and reds, backed by throbbing, immersive washes of synth. There are enough moments of disarming strangeness to keep things fresh, like Skinner’s calm recollection of his “origin story” while nonchalantly plucking the face off his latest victim; a 10-minute-long sequence of blackface amped to 11, as he prances around in the skin of a Black man while spouting mocking racial epithets; and a bizarre final scene that doesn’t really wrap anything up or satisfy anyone, yet is inexplicably satisfying in context.

Skinner might not be conceptually ambitious, but it’s doing enough things with pizzazz to be really surprising for what’s ultimately a very intimate, straightforward slasher. The persistent imagery of an every-person/no-person draped in ghastly yet luminescent trappings seems appropriate.

Overall rating: 8 out of 10